


Home With You

by AileySaharan



Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-18 17:17:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21530491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AileySaharan/pseuds/AileySaharan
Summary: When Bonnie Bennett returns from the prison world, she's traumatized and scared. The only person who can help her is Damon Salvatore.
Relationships: Bonnie Bennett/Damon Salvatore
Comments: 55
Kudos: 193





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, I’m Ailey! this is my first ever fanfic! :) So i would really appreciate reviews and rates and all the feedbacks :D This is kind of a short first chapter but more is coming. I am going to try to update every few days. 
> 
> This story is slightly AU in some of the prison world details, that I’ll fill in as we go along. All the AU things are to make it more Bamon centric, obviously lol.

It’s in the boarding house kitchen, ironically the place they shared most of their time together in 1994, where he sees her again. 

She’s kind of numb, and a lot scared, darting her eyes around like she’s expecting an attack. Her left hand clutches the leg of a cream colored teddy bear. 

He can’t believe his eyes, but he knew this was coming of course. He has been waiting for this moment — has been waiting for _her —_ since he got Liv to send Ms. Cuddles, stuffed magic carrier extraordinaire, back to 1994 for his little witch to find. 

And find it he knew she would.

“Bonnie,” he touches her shoulders gently and she flinches. “Bonnie, it’s me. You’re safe. You’re home.” 

She looks tired, hurt, but still _beautiful_ , still Bonnie. 

“Am I really back?” The timidness in her eyes shatters his heart into a million pieces.  
  
“Yes,” he breathes, breaking into a smile, pained but genuine. “You made it back.”

“How do I know you’re real?” Her voice is so small and confused, he wants to cry.   
  
He lifts his hands up to cup her face, stroking her cheeks. “I’m real. I should have never left you alone there by yourself. I-“ His voice breaks. “I’m so sorry.”

Her big green eyes grow wet with emotion and suddenly she’s in his arms, legs wrapped around his waist, burrowing her face in his neck in happy sobs. He lets out a surprised laugh of joy, squeezing her tiny body to him as tight as he can, relishing in their shared embrace.   
  
Eventually he puts her down and she wipes the tears from her face and says, “Now I know I’m hallucinating. The real Damon would never be so sweet without calling me annoying first.”

His face is stretched in a toothy grin. Too happy to remember to sport his signature cocky smirk. “I can’t believe I’m saying this but… I _might_ have missed you, witchy.” 

The beautiful smile she responds with sends his chest and belly into flutters. _When did I become so human?_ The question flits across his mind before he forgets himself in her glowing presence again.

“I missed you too,” she whispers and her eyes shimmer with sadness.

He wants her in his arms once more but they have never been so close, never hugged like _that,_ before this moment, and he’s terrified of how fragile she seems. 

Instead he furrows his brows and softens his voice. “You okay?”

She drops her gaze, lips quivering with overwhelm, shaking her head wordlessly. Damon closes the distance between them and holds her to him again. “Shh, it’s okay. You don’t have to talk about it right now.” He strokes her back until she calms down a little. 

They stay like that until she speaks again, muffled against his chest.   
  
“Damon, I don’t want anybody to know I’m back.”

“Why?” He ever so gently lifts her chin to meet his gaze. 

“I-I’m not ready. They’ll have so many questions and I just can’t handle that right now. I want to see them, but not yet.” 

He nods, understanding. “Stefan has his own place now so you can stay here with me for as long as you need to. Like old times. Just the two of us.” 

He smirks, intentionally suggestive, but she seems relieved.

“Thank you, Damon.” 

“Don’t mention it.”

She steps out of their embrace and smiles at him — _god, he’s missed that smile —_ before something unidentifiable flickers in her eyes briefly. “Elena?” 

He stiffens for a moment before relaxing again. “It’s a long story, but we’re not exactly speaking right now. She won’t be coming around here.”  
  
It is Bonnie’s turn to stiffen. “I’m sorry, Damon,” she sighs earnestly. 

_I’m not,_ the voice in his head spits, and it surprises him. But he doesn’t want to open up that can of worms right now, not when his Bonnie has just returned, not when she needs all of his attention. 

So he just winks at her. “I’m just happy I have my judgey little witch back.”

She smiles big and bright again and he wonders how he made it this long without her. “How long before you kick me out on the streets for being annoying? I’m thinking… two viewings of _The Bodyguard?_ ” 

He laughs — “You _wish_ you could get rid of me that easily” — and drapes his arm over her shoulder, guiding her up the stairs to the guest bedroom next to his — “I’m never leaving your side again, Bon Bon.” 

  
———

Bonnie takes her time in the shower, scrubbing away any lingering vestiges of 1994 off of her body. 

She scrubs roughly, ignoring the scars that Kai left all over her body. Trailing up and down her back and her abdomen, her chest and thighs. Between her legs. 

She shivers under the hot water. Kai liked to take out his frustration on her, his knife his favorite way to express himself. 

How many days was she strapped to that table in his apartment, sliced open, bleeding, crying out for Damon? How many times did she pray that he come back for her?

The torture didn’t even matter because Kai left her there, and then the real horror started. Days of solitude stretched into weeks of isolation. It didn’t take long for her to conjure up an imaginary Damon by her side to pass the time. It worked for a while until it didn’t. When she felt the vampire slipping from her grasp, she turned to the memories of the violence and the abuse, sharp and painful, to remember that she was flesh and blood. 

To remember that she was alive. 

A couple times she split open her wounds again, tearing into the grooves and lines that Kai’s blade had left behind with the blunt edges of her fingernails, until she screamed in cold anguish. It was all she could do to not feel like a ghost. 

Now as she washes her marked up body, her soapy hands absentmindedly scrubbing up and down her scars, protruding and swollen, she does not think of how Kai mutilated her. She does not dwell on the knowledge that he has destroyed her body forever, that she will forever have to hide herself and her skin, that a lover will never be able to look upon her nakedness again without horror and disgust. 

She does not think of these things, because her mind is fixated on a single, happy memory. Seeing Damon again, leaping into his arms. His laugh, his gentle touch. His stupid smirk. Playing on a blissed out loop in her psyche, as she rubs in the shampoo and washes out the conditioner. 

She hadn’t even realized how much she missed him until her christened “witchy” fellfrom his lips. She had even missed their fights, their bickering. She would gladly take that for the rest of her life. No questions asked. 

They had spent months together, just the two of them, and somewhere along the way they became _something_ to each other. The maddening, idiotic vampire she once hated had become _her_ Damon, her best friend. 

And then he was gone, just like that, and she had never known a darker period in her life. 

She shakes the nightmare away and exits the shower, careful not to look at herself in the mirror, quickly dressing herself in Damon’s pajama pants and sweatshirt. It’s all she wore after he left: his lingering smell was the last remaining comfort she had, one of her final tethers to sanity. She had resigned to wearing all his clothes, sleeping in his bed, even using his body wash.

A smile spreads across her face when she imagines how he would tease her if he knew. 

Once she settles under the covers of the bed in the guest room and turns off the light, her body feels like a bag of bones. The exhaustion hits and she closes her eyes to sleep, when a familiar fear creeps into her throat.

She begins to wonder if she has imagined it all like she imagined so many times in that hell; her escape, their reunion, the safety of his embrace. 

Nothing but a desperate fantasy, and she’s still trapped, hopelessly insane, utterly _alone._

The thought of being alone is constricting, suffocating, suddenly crushing her windpipe in the darkness. 

_I’m not alone… Damon’s right next door…I’m not alone…Damon’s right next door… I’m not alone… Damon’s right next door…_

She clings to her mantra but the fear continues to rise and twist around her, strangling, pulsating blackness, serpent like in its movement. 

She considers yelling for him but she can’t bear it if she calls out to the empty dark and there’s no reply. She knows she won’t survive it. Her throat is dry and she suddenly can’t speak his name even if she wants to. 

_Damon._

Panic shoots through her body and in seconds she’s fleeing out of bed, running to his door at the end of the hall and flinging it open. 

———

Damon is lying shirtless on top of the covers with the lights dimmed when he hears Bonnie’s heart rate spike next door. Before he can move, she bursts into his room, chest heaving, panic written all over her pale face.

“Bonnie?” He immediately smells her fear and jerks up to a seated position on the bed in concern.

Their eyes meet and he watches as relief visibly washes through her system, her body slowly going limp limb by limb. He briefly wonders if she’s going to collapse and readies himself to catch her if she falls. But she doesn’t, just hovers, a couple feet from his bed and gazes at him.

“Bonnie?” He tries again because she’s staring at him like he’s just made love to her and his stomach is swooping under her look. _Damn it, Salvatore, get it together._

She blinks and snaps out of it, straightening her stance. “I..I wasn’t sure if it was real or not,” she stammers, and then her voice drops to a whisper. “I thought I was alone again…. back _there.”_

He swallows and his fingers itch to cradle her face — _she looks so cute in my pajamas —_ but he just sits there stricken on the bed, looking up at her helplessly. He finally pats down on the mattress with his hand while she eyes him blankly. He pushes, “Come sit down, Bon Bon. You look like you’re about to pass out.” 

She obeys and clambers onto the bed and only when she’s comfortably seated next to him does he turn to her again, searching. “You had a nightmare?”

“No,” she admits with a shuddering exhale, staring at her hands. “When I close my eyes, I start to panic and think I’m just crazy and alone. When I saw Ms. Cuddles again, I thought it was all in my head. My brain creating this fantasy escape route because the alternative was too unbearable. To be honest, I don’t know if _this” —_ she gestures between them — “moment is real.” 

Tears fall from her eyes and Damon feels his chest tighten with a need so foreign but so intense it terrifies him. _Tell me how to make it better, little bird._

“I’m so, so tired, Damon. I just want to sleep but I’m so scared that this is all a hallucination or a dream and then I’ll wake up and.. and you won’t be here.” 

He takes her hand in his and squeezes as tight as he can without hurting her. “I will be here, Bonnie. I swear to you. I’ll be here tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day, and every day until you don’t want me there anymore.” She laughs thickly, beaming a watery smile at him — _how is she so goddamn beautiful, even like this —_ but the sadness in her eyes makes him want to rip his own heart out. He settles for wiping a stray tear off her cheek with his thumb. “And until you believe that, you’re going to sleep here in my bed with me.”

He expects her to refuse, protest, roll her eyes, smack him, put up a fight — it is _Bonnie_ after all; many a time in the prison world he joked about them advancing their relationship to bedfellows, which earned nothing short of an onslaught of slaps and punches to his chest and arms — but instead all she does is sniffle and ask, “Are you sure?”

In that moment he realizes how much she _needs_ him, how defeated, how _broken_ she is, and his heart falters again, down a spiral of anguish. _This is my fault. I never should have left. I should have brought her back sooner. I should have saved her._

“I’m sure,” he manages.

Minutes later they’re both under the covers with the lights off, several feet apart in Damon’s obscenely large California king bed, muttering their good nights. Damon lays on his back, arm folded under his head. He starts to doze off after a few seconds when he senses Bonnie on her side, staring at him. 

“What are you doing?” he asks after a minute, keeping his eyes closed. 

“Nothing.” 

The corners of his mouth twitch at the hint of defensiveness in her voice, that an ordinary person would never be able to detect but that he picks up on because well, she’s _his_ witch.

“You’re staring, _judgey_.”

“Oh. That.”

He sighs loudly and shifts so he’s also lying on his side, mirroring her form. Sure enough, her eyes are wide open and they lock gazes in the dark. 

“Is this your way of seducing me, Bon Bon? Because I gotta say, I expected better.”

She snorts. “You wish, Salvatore.”

“What is it then? I know I have perfect bone structure and I’m irresistibly sexy and handsome but you can ogle me during the daytime like you usually do.”

“Please. The only thing I’ve ever ogled at is the size of your damn ego.”  
  
“You think my ego’s big? Wait till you see my—“

“Damon!” 

“I was going to say heart. You witches with your naughty thoughts and dirty minds. Unbelievable.”

He chuckles and catches the ghost of her grin, her pearly whites flashing in the darkness between them. 

_Wow, I missed this… missed_ ** _her._** He feels a pang of hope because she’s still clearly one hundred percent Bonnie, all fire and banter, his ideal partner for all things verbal, including but not limited to flirting and diabolical plans. And as much as he wants to do this all night with her, they both know she needs to sleep.

But her eyes are still wide, glued to his face. He waits for her.

Finally, she asks, “Was it you who sent back Ms. Cuddles?” 

“Yup.” He pops his p. 

“I should have known it was you.”

“Uh duh, Bon Bon.”

Her gaze doesn’t waver.

He sighs and tries again, gentler this time. “Seriously, what is it?” 

Silence for a few beats.

“I’m memorizing you.” Her voice is soft and sad, and he swears he feels his heart skip a beat. “I’m memorizing you so that when you’re gone again I’ll be able to remember you more clearly. Easier. For longer.”

His throat tightens with something unnameable — _what is she doing to me? —_ and he forces it down. “I can’t wait until you wake up tomorrow and every day after that and realize that I’m still here.” His voice is harsher than he means it to be but she needs to hear it.

“I can’t wait for that too.” He can hear her smile.

“We’re never going to get to tomorrow if you don’t close your eyes and sleep.”

Silence again.

“I’m scared,” she whimpers. 

“I’m right here. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” 

“I know but…” she’s tearful again, choking out her words, “when I close my eyes, the loneliness fills up my lungs and my throat and my insides like black tar and I… I feel like I can’t breathe.”

It slowly dawns on him. _She needs to know I’m here when she can’t see me._ “Bonnie, I want to try something. Do you trust me?” 

“Yes.” Her answer is immediate and he can’t pretend like he doesn’t notice the warmth that swells in his chest. 

“Turn so you’re on your other side, facing away from me.” 

He hears her whine in hesitation but she does what he says. No sooner does she flip over that Damon pulls her body back into his, her back flush against his naked chest, sheltering her entire frame with the curve of his body. It’s the most tight and secure spooning situation he’s ever been in; he makes sure that every inch of her is pressed against him before he wraps his arm around her and envelops her hands in his. 

She’s tense at first as he adjusts around her, but when he nuzzles his face in her neck and drops several chaste kisses on her clothed shoulder, her body starts to yield. Let go. Melt into him. 

She is impossibly soft and warm and it takes everything in him to not shudder with pleasure at the feeling of her in his arms.

In the back of his head he knows this isn’t normal ‘best friend’ behavior, this kind of closeness. Hell, he doesn’t think he’s ever done anything this _intimate_ with Elena, even. And he’s acutely aware that the old Bonnie would set him on fire before letting him touch her in this way. But right now she _needs_ him, and he needs to make her feel better any way he can, and he can’t help but notice how _natural_ this feels, how they — their bodies, too — just _fit_ so comfortably, so easily, so well. 

When he brushes his lips against her ear and kisses her temple, she turns to pudding in his embrace.

“Okay, Bon Bon, now I want you to close your eyes.” 

He feels a current of fear tense through her again so he gently shushes her and lightly kisses her earlobe until her eyelids flutter closed. 

“Are your eyes closed?”

“Yes.” Her whisper is breathy, relaxed.

“Can you feel me?” He squeezes her even tighter, rhythmically stroking her hand with his thumb.

“Yes.”

“You know I’m still here?”

“I know.”

“You know I’m not going to leave you?”

“Yes.”

“Are you still scared?”

“No.” 

“Good. Keep your eyes closed.” 

He can feel her fast barreling towards unconsciousness as her breathing slows and deepens. 

“You’re not alone, Bon Bon,” he whispers against her hair, “I’m not going anywhere.” He presses a soft, lingering kiss behind her ear. 

The tiny moan that escapes her throat makes his stomach practically ache. _Jesus._

“Damon—” she starts to thank him, voice heavy with sleep, but he shushes her again. 

“Tell me tomorrow, little bird.”

And with that she falls into her slumber, while Damon stays awake, tightly curled around her, making sure her dreams are sweet and easeful. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for reading!! Again please R&R cus like I said this is my first ever fan fiction/written fiction ever xD  
> Will write/upload chapter two hopefully in the next week!
> 
> I know our girl Bonnie is suffering right now but she will get her mojo back eventually I promise! I just really want to write comforting & protective Damon cus *Swoon* am i right 
> 
> What do you guys think of Damon in this story so far? Do you think he is OOC? I don't think so bc at this point in season 6 he is way more in touch with his humanity even if he's still Damon! By the time Bonnie got back to Mystic Falls in the show, it was pretty clear Damon really loved and cared about her! 
> 
> Although this story is gonna be mostly Bamon centric I am going to TRY to include other characters and have a little plot :) key word… TRY lol
> 
> Here are some things coming up:  
> What happened between Damon and Elena?  
> What happened to Kai?
> 
> and of course our two favorite characters having more fluff, bonding, angst, banter, flirtiness… all the Bamon glory.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Bonnie Bennett returns from the prison world, she's traumatized and scared. The only person who can help her is Damon Salvatore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Soooo much love and gratitude to everyone who commented, favorited, followed. Your guys' support and enjoyment of the story literally makes my LIFE. Lmfao. 
> 
> I know this took way too long to upload but I had insane writer's block in December. Here's to a 2020 with way less of that! 
> 
> This chapter is twice as long as the first one but I don't know how I feel about it yet. Let me know what you think. I hope you guys enjoy! Xoxo - Ailey

When Bonnie wakes up, the first thing she’s aware of is that her face is burrowed in the crook of a neck. She doesn’t know where she is, _when_ she is, but it doesn’t matter, because the skin, smooth and familiar, both cooling and warm against her cheeks and forehead, feels _amazing._

Feels… safe.

She vaguely realizes that she’s curled on top of someone, the length of her torso stretched across a naked chest, her legs straddling a pair of hips. There are muscular arms wrapped around her and in any other situation she would probably freak out about being in bed with a stranger, but right now, in this not-fully-conscious state, all she can think about is the absolute cloud nine _comfort_ of it all.

_Grams did it. She got me to heaven._

She doesn’t know whose body she’s entangled with, nor can she remember how she got here. But in this moment, she can’t bring herself to care; every cell in her body is screaming that she belongs here and nowhere else.

The horror and loneliness of the past few months is now just a distant, painful memory because she’s saturated with the sweet sensations of the skin pressed against her, the hands resting on her back. The unbelievably warm contentment that envelops her body.

A blissful sigh exits her lips.

That familiar scent wades into her nostrils. Sandalwood, leather, vanilla and bourbon. _His_ smell, that earthy aroma.

_Home._

Another heavenly sigh.

 _I don’t care if it’s real or not_. _As long as I stay here forever, I’ll be okay._

She’s lost in a fog of sensory delight, and all she knows is that she wants to lean in to the embrace as much as possible.

Deepen the contact, the pleasure.

She lightly brushes her lips against the shoulder she’s made her little home in, and presses her nose to his neck and slowly inhales his scent, a hum of satisfaction reverberating in her throat.

Suddenly her mouth waters and the need to taste him overpowers.

_Just a kiss and a lick._

As if animated of their own volition, her lips part on an exhale and the next thing she knows she’s hungry and delirious and leaning in—

And then his voice, smooth as silk, magic to her ears, cuts through the haze. “Good morning, little bird.”

She jerks her head up to meet his baby blues, her face hovering inches above his.

“Damon?”

Confusion distorts her features for a moment, to which he replies, “You didn’t have your way with my body, if that’s what you’re thinking. Not that I would have objected.”

They’re so close that she can feel the breathy vibration of his words on her lips and it sends a jolt through her whole being —

_Whoa, Bonnie._

She snaps up into a seated position, back straight, eyes roaming over the vampire underneath her. Gets a full look of his angel face.

He’s wearing his typical lazy, self-satisfied smile, but there’s something tentative, a little _nervous_ in his eyes. His pupils seem a little wider than usual.

_Am I imagining this?_

She blinks, struggling to orient herself. “Am I dreaming?”

His smirk widens. “Now you’re just making me blush.”

_Is this real? Is he real?_

“You’re really here? I’m really back?”

“I _told_ you, judgey. When are you just going to learn that I’m always right?” He’s teasing her, peacocking with that world class _snark_ she’s almost embarrassed to admit she missed, but his smile and soft eyes says he’s _happy_.

Just like that, a powerful rush of relief and joy washes through her like a tidal wave and she doesn’t know if she’s about to cry, laugh, or both.

An excited giggle escapes her lips and he lights up with a grin and for a moment they lose themselves in their shared elation, palpable and almost overwhelming.

Her heart swells with affection and she has to stop herself from lunging at him. She wants to tell him how much he means to her; show her gratitude and happiness with kisses all over his cheeks and face and neck but he’s half naked and she’s seated on top of him and even though it feels right and safe, there’s a part of her thrumming with awareness of how really _delicate_ their position is right now.

How close they are to a line that they cannot cross.

So instead she lowers herself down to curl back around him in a tight hug, resting her head on his bare chest, humming with satisfaction. Closes her eyes and smiles wide.

_Home._

His hands rub up and down her back and he chuckles as he drops a kiss on her head. “Have you gone Alzy-heimers on me Bon Bon? We literally had this exact celebration reunion last night.”

“Shut up, Damon. Don’t ruin the moment.”

“Don’t worry, I have no problem with the senile. Even in judgey witch form.”

She’s too tired for their verbal jousting, and her body shakes with laughter and sighs as her cheek bounces lightly on the solid plate of his sternum. The contact reminds her that somehow she’s mounting him and she doesn’t remember how or why it happened.

“Damon, how did we end up like this?”

“Well, from a cosmic perspective I think I was always meant to end up taking care of you, but if you’re referring to you _straddling_ me, you climbed on top of me in the middle of the night.”

She feels herself go red. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I like that unconscious Bonnie is a _top_.” She can practically hear the smirk dancing on his lips.

His hands find their way to her hair, stroking and lightly caressing her scalp. It’s absurd to her how normal this feels. How comfortable and sweet. They’ve never done _anything_ like this before — they hugged maybe once before in the whole history of their relationship before her return and now here they are — intertwined in his bed like it’s nothing.

“You just gonna lie on top me of all day? Not that I’m complaining.” There’s humor in his voice.

“Just a little while longer. Please.”

After a little while he says, “It’s 5 pm, you know?”

“What?” She snaps her head up to meet his eyes.

He’s grinning. “Clearly you were exhausted, all witchy tapped out. I guess prison world inter-dimensional travel will do that to you. But we should probably get you something to eat soon.”

She can’t process what it means.

_Has he just been awake for hours, lying here under me?_

“Have you… you stayed… did you move…have you been here the whole time?” She sputters and then flushes deeper at the amused look on his face.

“Wow, who knew Bonnie Bennett would be so _adorable_ when she’s embarrassed.” 

_Did he just call me adorable?_

But she can’t think about that right now, pushes on his chest to sit up and straddle him again. Her head spins with shame and she wants to apologize, wants to climb out of her skin.

“Are you hungry? Why would you just let me keep you trapped here the whole time? You must be so uncomfortable..”

She moves to get off him but his hands land on her hips in an iron grip, not quite painful but pinning her to him.

“I’m a vampire, _Bon Bon_ , I don't get uncomfortable.” His tone is playful and light, taunting even, and he taps her nose with his finger. “Why are you acting like I killed ten people? It’s not a big deal. You needed the rest and I got to listen to you snore for 18 hours.” He smirks.

“You didn’t have to stay the whole time…” Her face is hot and she doesn’t understand why she wants to cry.

He scoffs, but not in an unkind way. “Actually, yes, I did have to, you were _pretty_ messed up. Besides, I promised you I’d stay.”

“Yeah, but—” The words die in her throat, replaced by a knot, thick and painful.

 _I don't want to be a burden to you._ She can’t bring herself to say it.

“But _nothing_ , Bonnie.” There’s an edge to his voice, irritated and very Damon, and that shuts her up. His gaze rakes over her vulnerable form above him and then he’s softer, his fingers ghosting along the curve of her cheek. His mouth twitches and then his voice drops, serious but gentle.

“I like holding you.”

A heat tingles in her belly. It’s been so long since she’s felt something other than despair and fear and loneliness, and even longer since she felt something like _that._ She doesn’t even know how to name it or place it, but her mouth speaks for her, automatically, before she knows what she’s saying.

“I like it when you hold me.”

He says nothing as they just look into each other’s eyes, a tender silence washing over them, warm and sweet. Something about his gaze suddenly makes her uneasy, makes her hyper aware that her core is pressed against his lap.

“Come here, then,” he says finally, and pulls her back down into him.

She lets him hold her for a while longer, nuzzling into his chest and blinking back tears.

_Never leave me, Damon._

_———_

About an hour later, Damon makes them the latest breakfast of all time — _vampcakes of course —_ while Bonnie watches from the dining table.

She’s trying to be discrete about her voyeurism, but her glowing emerald eyes are burning holes in his face.

 _And people claim I have a smolder?! The witch puts me to shame._

He doesn’t mind it though, as blatant as it is. It’s definitely new — he’s accustomed to being the one with the intense, stare-y gaze and the old Bonnie pretty much avoided looking at him whenever possible. Eye contact was once an excuse for a glare or an eye roll… or an aneurysm. But then again, there’s a lot of things that are new about their relationship now, and he’s okay with all of it.

If he’s being honest he finds it kind of endearing, the way she quickly drops her gaze and fidgets awkwardly every time he glances up from the stove to catch the tail end of her stare.

_It’s adorable, really._

He’s left stifling a smile each time, and considers teasing her but he doesn’t want to make her retreat and withdraw. Doesn’t want her to stop. 

_Weird._

It registers that the old Damon would jump on every opportunity to make the little witch uncomfortable. And that urge is still present, still strong. It’s just that there’s something _else_ there.. overpowering and knotted in his stomach, his throat, his chest.

And that something else wants nothing else than keeping her safe and happy. Because lord knows she deserves it. He doesn’t know when the witch started taking up residency in his heart like this but _damn,_ she’s in there now.

 _It’s just the prison world bonding_ , he tells himself.

It strikes him that he’s never seen her like this before — all defenseless and vulnerable. Painfully _open._ At the mercy of her fragility. For as long as he’s known her, she’s kept a strong face and her head held up high, carrying everyone with her quiet confidence and power. How many times did she save all of their lives again and again, without so much a care for her own well being? Without even a falter or a moment of weakness?

Even in 1994, he was the raw one, paralyzed by fear and ready to give up. But she wouldn’t let him. She held it together for _both_ of them, with her hope, her positivity, her light. Her strength was the reason he made it out alive, even as he constantly berated her and brought her down, doubting her ability to get her magic back.

He tries not to cringe thinking about it, because that Bennett gaze is still hot on his flesh.

_Ugh._

Of course if anyone would make him feel so devastatingly human, it would be his little bird.

He thinks of earlier in bed, when she was so (cutely) worried about inconveniencing him and he nearly rolls his eyes at it.

_Only Bonnie Bennett would return from a prison world hell scenario and still put everyone else’s needs before her own._

His stomach suddenly clenches with irritation at the thought, and he wants to grab her and tell her that he’ll hold her for in bed seven damn days if he so pleases and she’ll just have to deal with it.

_Whoa. Possessive Damon makes an appearance. Down boy._

He loosens his now iron-grip on the spatula and plates the pancakes and vamps them up, with the whipped cream he has kept stockpiled since he’s been back, in preparation for this very moment.

“Bon appetit, mon cherie Bon Bon.”

She crinkles her nose as he settles in his seat across from her. “I hope your cooking is better than your french.”

“Sure, let’s pretend like you haven’t already _tasted_ what I have to offer. Like you don’t _love_ it.” It comes out way more sexual than he intends— w _ell, maybe I intended it_ _—_ and his mind flits back to the delicious way he woke up, with Bonnie’s hot breath against his neck. He could have sworn she was going to sleep kiss him in her semi-conscious state but damn it, he panicked — _best friend and all —_ and woke her up.

_Stupid morals._

The witch is unfazed by his dirty talk, all her focus on attacking the plate before her and shoveling food down her gullet.

He watches in amusement, the corner of his mouth ticking up as she groans happily. “Well,” he drawls, “you _clearly_ missed my masterful vampcakes. I seem to remember a very judgey, ungrateful food critic named Bonnie Bennett who took sick pleasure in insulting the glorious breakfasts I would make for her.”

She makes a face at him and he has to physically stop himself from leaning across the table and booping her on the nose because she’s just so _damn cute_ with her cheeks bulging with pancake.

He lets her inhale the rest of the spread in silence, wondering what she ate that whole time without him. All those times Liv would send him back to follow her around the boarding house as a desperate ghost, crying out for her attention, he realizes that he rarely saw her eat. The thought makes him go cold as his eyes drop to her collarbones — _have they always protruded that intensely?_ — and he shivers, pushing his own plated stack towards her.

When he’s met with a raised eyebrow, he tells her he’s not hungry.

When both plates are licked clean and she rests back in her seat with a satisfied huff, he leans forward and places his elbows on the tabletop.

“Sooo, Bon Bon, talk to me. What’s on the schedule for today? Well, for the remaining few hours of the day that is.”

“You tell me. This is Mystic Falls. Don’t you have places to be? Doppelgängers to save? Cures to find? Villains to plot against? Some impending doom to postpone?”

“Nope,” he says too quickly, knowing it’ll irritate her. “Don’t know, don’t care. I’m on Bon Bon duty.”

 _Ridiculously_ pretty green eyes narrow at him from across the table. “You’re telling me there’s actually nothing going on?”

“What I’m saying, _witchy_ , is that me and all the Mystic Falls bullshit drama are on a break.”

The skeptical look on her face says it all. He can practically hear her say it, because she always sees right through him: _Mystic Falls bullshit drama? You mean Elena?_ He knows she wants to ask about the tortured doppelgänger love saga that has kept him pathetically tethered to this town and its miscreant inhabitants.

But thankfully, the witch is feeling generous because she just says, “They’re your friends, Damon.”

“You’re my friend too.”

“But if they’re in trouble—”

“Do you see anyone banging down the door, begging for my help? No. The scooby doo gang can handle themselves for now.”

Her glare doesn’t waver and he feels that spike of irritation again.

_Unbelievable. Even after all this, she’s unable to put down that insufferable savior complex. Why is everyone around me a goddamn martyr?_

_“_ What ever happened to you not wanting anyone to know you’re in town? What happened to needing time to adjust, to _heal?_ You haven’t even been back for 24 hours, Bon.”

He manages to keep his voice even and gentle with gargantuan effort, and it’s working because she’s softening in front of his eyes.

“Listen Bon, I spent every waking moment the last few months trying to get you back. Sometimes _they_ would help out but most of the time they didn’t, so I mostly kept my distance. I don’t know what they’ve been up to. And then Liz got sick and…” He trails off, lump suddenly lodged in his throat.

She reads him like a book. “Liz? Sheriff Forbes—?”

He nods, averts his eyes. “She died. Cancer.”

She gasps, hands flying up to cover her mouth. Seconds later there’s a loud scrape of the chair against the kitchen hardwood and she’s moving towards him.

He’s still seated and his face meets the soft warmth of her chest and stomach when she gathers him in a hug.

“She was your friend,” the witch whispers, cradling the back of his head. As if to justify or explain the reason for their embrace.

He says nothing, just lets her hold him, his arms slowly wrapping around her waist to pull her in closer. Tighter. Inhales her sweet cinnamon-y scent and on the exhale the knot in his throat dissolves.

_To live and die in Bonnie Bennett’s arms._

She caresses the nape of his neck and holds him tighter when he hums and sighs into her.

“When?”

“Three days ago,” he mumbles against her belly.

“Three days ago!?” She freezes and then pulls away lightly to look at him. He stifles a groan at the loss of contact but still can’t meet her eyes.

“Caroline,” she says more to herself than him, and is stepping away from their embrace when he grips her hips, keeping her in place yet again.

“Is dealing with it. Nothing you can do about it now Bon.”

The witchy glare is back but he doesn’t care.

“She’s my best friend, Damon.”

“I thought I was your best friend?” He gives her his best pout to disarm the situation but naturally judgey is far from amused.

“She needs me right now, needs all of us—”

 _What if I need you more?_ he almost says, but stops himself just in time.

“No she doesn’t. As far as she was concerned, you were _dead_ and she wasn’t exactly scouring the ends of the earth to find you. She has Elena and Stefan. ”

Bonnie flinches, but he doesn’t give a damn, because he’s annoyed to all hell that she’s so eager to become everyone’s emotional support pet again.

_Has she learned nothing? I just told her nobody here gives a proper fuck about her, except me._

“I have to make sure she’s okay—”

He snaps. “Okay? Of course she’s not okay, Bonnie, Liz is dead! And there’s nothing you can do to change that.” He takes a deep breath to calm himself down and stands up to place his hands on her shoulders. “Look, can’t you just put yourself first for a few days? Before we get back to trying to save everyone’s asses?” He looks at her pointedly. “You just got back… and that’s all that matters right now.” It’s unclear whether if he says this for her or for himself.

Of course the little witch looks like she still wants to argue but he’s gripping her shoulders a little too tightly and boring into her soul and he can hear her heart pounding, not to mention the slight blush that has creeped into her cheeks. He starts to wonder if he’s scaring her before she finally huffs a sigh and rolls her eyes. “Fine.”

He smirks, pleased, and begins to whisk her into the other room. “Now was that so hard witchy? Also unless you specify what you want to do tonight, we’re watching _The Bodyguard_.” 

“Why does it feel like you're trying to hog me to yourself?”

_Maybe I am._

“Don’t flatter yourself Bennett. You think one night of cuddles makes us friends? Tell that to every sorority girl on the east coast from the last _century_.”

She slaps his arm with zero force and he grins.

———

Twenty minutes into _The Bodyguard,_ Bonnie realizes that maybe she went a little too hard with the pancakes.

At first, she thought it was just residual butterflies from their heated interaction at breakfast. She’s genuinely not used to this ultra-protective _tender_ side of Damon. Sure, she has witnessed brief snaps of it before but almost always directed at Elena, and boy is it _intense_ to be its object.

She tells herself that it makes sense since he’s just an intense person, that she’s sure Stefan has to deal with this side of him all the time.

There is no avoiding it; the stubborn vampire has gotten under her skin in more ways than one and it’s doing all sorts of weird things to her insides.

But she quickly realizes _this_ particular unpleasant churning in her belly is because of the inhaled stacks of pancakes.

When an involuntary groan escapes her lips, the vampire sitting at the end of the couch turns to her with a raised eyebrow.

The grimace on her face says it all. “My stomach hurts.”

“Like an I-ate-way-too-many-vampcakes-way-too-fast-because-I’m-a-witchy-glutton-stomach-ache orrrrrrr?”

She chucks a cushion at the annoyingly, _unhelpfully_ perfect smirk on his face. “It’s called indigestion, you ass.”

He grins and ducks. “Tomato, tomahto.”

She watches the grin disappear when she doubles over in pain, clutching her stomach, hissing out moans and owwwwws.

He’s closer to her on the couch now, his hand resting on her arm. “Jesus Bon Bon. How can I help?” 

_That damn tenderness again._

She flashes back to the first time she noticed it, back in 1994. She had been having a particularly rough day of trying to reignite her magic, and it ended in her cutting her palm open when she smashed a vase in frustration. When he found her like that, on her knees, crying and bleeding, he had silently scooped her up, carried her to her room and sat her on the bed, while he cleaned and bandaged up her hand. She remembers how he had periodically glanced up at her to make sure the pain wasn’t too bad — his eyes almost _shy —_ and tried to distract her with stupid jokes and silly anecdotes.

She remembers it so vividly, because it was the first time that she had the thought: _Oh, this must be the Damon that Elena fell in love with._

She shakes the memory from her head because they're not in 1994 and he’s staring at her and she’s hunched over in pain. “Tums?”

He stands up immediately. “I’ll go get some from the store.”

_Panic._

“No!” she shrieks, grabbing his hand and pulling him back down to the couch, before reddening at her overreaction.

_Okay, I’m still clearly not okay with being alone._

It doesn’t help that the vampire is somber now, only eyeing her with concern. “Do you want to come with me to go get them?”

She shakes her head sheepishly, mildly irritated that she is proving him right — that she needs more time to adjust, because the thought of leaving the boarding house suddenly feels impossible. “No. No. It’s fine. Just stay.”

She expects him to gloat and start up a fight, make fun of her, or at the very least to mutter an _I told you so_ , but he only nods, eyes never leaving her face.

The small smile she extends to him is interrupted by a wince and groan when the aching ramps up again.

“Bon.. at least let me give you a belly rub.”

She snorts. “A belly rub? I’m okay, thanks.” Even though they’ve been touching each other non stop since she returned, which is already _weird enough,_ somehow a goddamn belly rub seems to be _too_ intimate.

“It’ll help with the indigestion, I promise. I don’t offer tummy rubs to just anyone, you know.” His hand reaches out to her in the seemingly innocent offering, but she catches the gleam of mischief flashing in his eyes.

“What am I, a dog?” she retorts, even as she’s desperately clutching and kneading at her abdomen with her own hands, seeking that relief.

“Noooo, you’re a kitten,” he purrs slowly, mouth curling up in a devilish smile. “Bon Bon the kitty kat.”

 _What kind of crackhead flirtation is this mf trying now?_

She doesn’t even have time to roll her eyes before he pulls her into his arms, tickling her mercilessly, and she’s scream laughing and convulsing in his arms — “Damon! Stop! Stop it!” — because his fingers are relentless and she’s near hysterics.

He’s alternating between “Who’s a ticklish kitty kat?” which is _unbelievable,_ and “Come onnnn, Bon Bon, let me rub your tumtum…” over the sounds of her squeals and giggles.

It goes on for what feels like _way_ too long, but he stops right before she’s about to cry and she collapses in his lap as she comes down from the overstimulation.

 _Well,_ she has to admit, _that did provide a distraction from my stomach ache._

“So how about that belly rub?”

She can hear the smirk. “I hate you.”

“Was that a yes, judgey?”

His hands are already resting on her stomach, tapping softly, and she realizes begrudgingly that just that contact itself brings her some comfort. So she nods, letting herself relax into his touch.

When he starts stroking around her navel in slow, lightly pressured circles, she practically mewls in relief, like a goddamn _cat_.

He chuckles against her hair. “There’s my kitty.”

“Shut up, Damon.”

“You know, _Bonkat_ , I can get a deeper massage if you take your top off.”

She opens her mouth to call him a dirty old pervert but then his fingers flirt with the lower hem of her sweater and every fucking cell in her body seizes with terror.

_My scars. He can’t see my scars._

She screams, way too loud and bloodcurdling and panicked for the situation —

_He can’t see how ugly I am._

“No! No!”

_How grotesque, how monstrous, how damaged,_

— and shoves away from him, flinging them each to opposite sides of the couch,

_It’ll be all over his face when he sees my mutilated flesh. That I’m broken beyond repair, too disgusting to ever be… loved_

and before she knows it he’s crying out in pain, clutching at his broken hands.

She hadn’t even felt her magic in that moment, it just _happened,_ her power acting of its own volition with her fear as fuel, really a moment of unconscious self defense where her body’s concerned.

When she snaps back to the moment, he’s realigning his mangled fingers with obscene cracks and horrible groans as his bones heal themselves.

The look he gives her _hurts,_ because it’s angry and confused and pained and even though she once relished in making the elder Salvatore writhe in agony before her, she never wants to make him feel that way these days.

“Why the hell would you do that? I was joking.” He delivers the words with a venom that is somehow both too cold and too hot for her liking.

She can only stare on in wide-eyed guilt, frozen with remorse and horror that she’s ruined everything — _which is what, exactly? —_ between them.

“I won’t touch you,” he says next, the white hot rage of the moment now replaced with something far more terrible: a cold, stiff, distance. She feels him pulling away and it’s abundantly clear that he is _hurt._

Emotionally hurt that is, which she can rationally recognize is _ridiculous_ and an overreaction _,_ because truly he has no right to be hurt — she’s always responded to his half-assed sexual advances and intrusions on her personal space with hostility, aneurysms and broken limbs galore.

_So what’s different now?_

And it _was_ just a joke, wasn’t it? It’s not as if he actually wants her in that way, not like he actually thought a topless massage would be in any way appropriate for their friendship, so _why_ the sore feelings? Why the cold shoulder?

 _He is being dramatic, you did nothing wrong,_ her pride states, but she can’t explain why it upsets her so badly to see him sitting all the way at the other end of the couch like a wounded child, compulsively rubbing his hands in his lap.

She can’t explain why she moves towards him until she’s nearly in his arms again and why it crushes her when he flinches away from her touch; can’t explain why she takes his hands in hers and looks into his wounded blue eyes and says what comes out of her mouth next.

“No, Damon, please don’t be mad. I’m sorry, okay? It was an accident.”

He doesn’t budge, all steel blue gaze and hard facial lines as he takes her remorse in stride, but his thumb strokes the palm of her hand— on purpose or instinctually? she can’t say.

 _That’s more than enough of an apology_ , her pride supplies, but she ignores it again, because she needs him to understand.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t even realize what my magic was doing until…” she trails off, and it doesn’t take long for the concern to start cracking through his facade. The openness of his face and eyes, they can never hold his pretend indifference for long, and she’s momentarily grateful for his raw nature.

“I’m just sensitive right now, Damon,” she finishes with a heavy sigh and peers up at him to see that he has softened significantly, simply watching her with a curious eye.

She prays that he doesn’t try to push it, doesn’t scold her for not being in control of her magic or pry her for details around her wounds and traumas.

_Could you possibly know how much Kai hurt me? Could you possibly understand how deeply I’ve been cut?_

She doesn’t remember Damon’s Augustine history, that he too is an unexpected survivor of body mutilation, of unspeakable violence and torture. That they are kindred spirits from a shared dark timeline.

He doesn’t push it and when he finally nods in assent to her apology, her small, rueful smile stretches into a beaming one. He rolls his eyes in response, because he knows that she knows that her grins are contagious — _her_ _witchy wiles,_ he calls them — but he can’t stop the smirk that graces his lips.

“Let’s finish this damn stupid movie,” he begrudges and she giggles and turns around in his lap to face the tv. Moments later when she takes his hand and puts it over her (clothed) stomach, it makes her happy when he quietly starts rubbing.

———

It’s only about fifteen minutes later in the movie when the witch falls asleep in his arms, and another twenty minutes that he sits there on the couch in silence with the tv off, enjoying the feeling of her body as it rises and falls against him with each breath.

Eventually he carries her up to his bedroom; not that they ever discussed it but he assumes this is still what she needs, and he doesn’t want her to wake up panicking again.

At least, this is what he tells himself because frankly, he’s the one who wants her beside him tonight.

When he settles in bed for the night and cradles her in his arms again, he wonders if she will wake up in the night, screaming in terror at their closeness, at his touch.

He doesn’t know what to think or how to feel about any of it, but he knows that seeing her like that — repulsed and horrified by him — wounded him deep, _for some stupid unknown reason._

It’s not like he was going to actually take off her shirt or anything — _well,_ _unless she wanted him to, but that’s beyond the point —_ but her response cruelly reminded him that he is still the monster that everyone sees him as.

_Of course she reacted like that. We might be friends but after all the pain I’ve caused her? Breaking my hands wasn’t even close to what I deserve._

All this tenderness and playfulness between him and the little bird these last couple days had him fooled. Brought him back to more innocent times, _human_ times, where there were no such things as vampires or witches, where they could just be two friends taking care of each other.

A blissful and happy vacation from the achingly heavy reality of being Damon Salvatore, abject villain and devil’s reject.

If the most virtuous and honest person he knows, one Bonnie Bennett, is disgusted by him that severely then that is pretty damning, isn’t it?

_Serves me right for thinking I would ever be able to escape myself._

When he finally falls asleep he does so listening to the soft steady thump of her heartbeat, because it’s the only soundtrack that calms him right now.

He doesn’t wake until several hours later when the witch is crudely pushing him onto his back and climbing on top of him.

He grins sleepily to himself as she straddles him, not even bothering to open his eyes — _guess this is our sleeping routine now —_ as she presses her core into his lap and settles above him.

He waits for her to rest down onto his chest so he can envelop her in his arms but she never comes, and just when he’s about to mumble her name, her fingertips graze his cheeks, sending a jolt of electricity through his whole being and forcing his eyes open.

Bonnie is sitting up with her back straight, staring down at him with one hand resting on his chest and the other hovering near his face. There’s a languid, dreamy smile pasted on her face and lingering in her eyes and in this moment, _even though she looks hauntingly beautiful_ , he doesn’t recognize her and it is scaring him a little.

He blinks furiously, taking her in, as her fingers find their way to his jaw, tracing.

“What are you doing?” He slurs his question, sleep voice and all.

She doesn’t reply, and he’s not even sure she heard him, as her other hand starts gently caressing his neck.

_What in the witchy woo fuck is going on?_

He knows something is wrong because this is not judgey witch behavior, oh no no, not his Bon Bon, but there’s that part of him that is entranced by her ethereality, and there’s another part of him that wants her to continue touching him ever so lightly.

“Bonnie,” he says, louder this time, “what are you doing?”

“Shhhh,” she breathes. “I’m touching you.”

The typical judgey tone he has come to love is peculiarly absent, and the only way he can describe her voice now is like honey and music, seductive and softly dripping. Surrounding him in a warm bath. He nearly hums in pleasure just thinking about it.

_Get a grip, Damon._

“O…kay, but why exactly are you touching me?”

No reply again, and both her hands are now trailing along the sides of his neck.

_Mega witchy weirdness._

“Why are you touching me Bon, at 4 in the morning?”

She seems unfazed by his questions, but her normally emerald eyes are flashing silver in the dark, and he’s tempted to throw her off him and turn on the light because he’s not sure if he’s tripping out or not.

Her whispered reply would have completely bewitched him if her behavior wasn’t concerning him so much. “Because I want to. Because this is a dream, and I can.”

_Ah, yes._

Damon’s memory quickly flits through all those times in 1994, when he would hear her sleep talking to herself in the bedroom down the hall, as the realization settles.

Back then, it consisted primarily of either mumbled nonsense or adorable gurgling, the distinction entirely depending on whether he was annoyed with her at the time or not.

_But this… damn, this is a whole new level of sleep talking._

“This isn’t a dream, Bonnie. I’m awake,” he says evenly.

“Oh, Damon,” she sings, and his mouth twitches at how much he _enjoys_ hearing dream Bonnie’s tongue curl deliciously around his name. “Damon, Damon. I know that I’m asleep because I’m touching you like this, and it isn’t awkward.”

He almost snorts, because of the obtusely silly dream-logic-ness of her reasoning, but also because, well, she’s kind of right. If she were awake, he thinks, then all this would be a lot more… let’s say _tense_ of a situation _._

“No, Bon, I’m right and you’re wrong, as usual. How can I prove it to you? Or should I just wake you up?”

She smiles at him and it’s so _beautiful_ he is immediately annoyed at himself. She cups his cheek and sighs, but not unhappily. “Why is my dream Damon as stubborn as my real Damon? Can’t you let me dream in peace?”

_My Damon?_

Oh, he was ready to argue with her, but the witch’s use of the possessive pronoun stops him dead in his tracks.

_My._

He’s faltering and it’s embarrassing.

_I’m **her** Damon. _

The warmth and affection billowing in his chest has abruptly turned him into a sap, and so much of the pain from her earlier rejection is gone, even if this is just _dream Bonnie,_ but he can’t really dwell on it because it’s a little distracting how she’s cupping both of his cheeks and gazing into his face.

“Fine,” he manages with great difficulty, “Say we’re dreaming. Then what?”

She smiles again and lets go of his face to run her hands up and down his upper arms and biceps. “You have amazing arms.”

It can’t be helped, a grin blooms on his face only to quickly be downgraded to a smirk, because he’s Damon Salvatore and has to remain cool, even in a dream flirt situation.

“Thanks.” He knows how to play nonchalant too well, even when he wants to tease her relentlessly — _who would have known the judgey Bonnie Bennett likes my sexy, masculine, ultra muscly arms? —_ but right now he doesn’t want to scare dream Bonnie away, she’s delicate and he likes her.

Besides, his little bird will never hear the end of that comment; the fact that he’ll have an eternity to remind her of it is enough to put the stupid grin back on his face.

Her hands continue their journey, now brushing sublime patterns atop his sternum and chest.

He’s holding down the fort remarkably well, because every touch of her fingertips, no matter how feather light, sends electric volts of pleasure up and down his skin and through his body. The worst part is that he _can’t quite tell_ if it’s witchy juju or just… _desire_. He tells himself it’s the former, because her magic is clearly on the fritz these days and well, the latter is too difficult to think about right now.

When her finger gets worrisomely close to his nipple, he decides to do what he does best. Puncture the tension with a joke. “Is this all you ever do in your dreams, Bon Bon? Feel me up?”

She laughs, and it reverberates in the air like literal magic.

“Wouldn’t you like that, dream Damon?” she teases, voice like silk and trilling with glee, and the vampire finds himself basking in the glow that is a flirtatious Bonnie Bennett, light and airy, magic and beauty, unburdened by the pain of the world.

Before he can get in his feelings about it, she dazzles him again.

“Why aren’t you touching me?”

“What?” Her question is so surprising that he has to ask for clarification, even though he heard her loud and clear the first time.

“Why aren’t _you_ touching _me_ , Damon?”

He’s nonplussed, just staring while at a loss for words, as her silver tinted gaze picks him apart. Too long passes in silence, and he feels frozen in this impasse, before… an embrace? before loss? he can’t say.

“Hmmm?” she beckons, massaging his ribs and it spurs him into action.

“Do you want me to touch you?”

“Yes, Damon,” she croons, as if explaining to a child.

His heart _flutters_ like a teenage boy but he doesn’t dare lift a finger, because he has to know. It’s now or never, and even though a part of him says that maybe this isn’t the best conversation to have with _dream Bonnie_ , it’s already in his throat and eating him alive.

“You didn’t want me to touch you earlier. You panicked when I touched your shirt. You were disgusted by me.”

_There, I said it._

“Oh,” is all she says, and removes her hands from his body. She suddenly looks so sad, so lost and pained, that he feels his face, heart, and stomach all fall simultaneously.

Whatever this reaction is, he doesn’t want it, and it’s so much worse than he imagined.

“Never mind,” he chokes out, “I get it.”

He wants to get away from her because it’s too much, but the witch is murmuring something.

“He hurt me, Damon.”

“What?”

“Kai hurt me.” She’s staring down at her hands, which are folded on top of her belly.

He flinches as he remembers the arrow piercing her there, one of his greatest regrets, leaving her there bleeding out and alone because of that stupid ascendant.

“I know,” he says. “I’m sorry.” It’s all he can offer her and it still feels utterly pathetic.

“No,” she snaps, and it throws him off seeing dream Bonnie get aggravated. “You don’t know. You don’t know how he hurt me.”

“Tell me,” he croaks.

“He hurt me so badly, Damon.”

She sounds so anguished, looks so wounded, that his heart shrivels up inside him and all he can do is look at her. It alarms him again how open and vulnerable she’s being, he’s still not used to seeing this side of her, frankly _any_ side of her that isn’t all strength and resilience. _More surprises of dream Bonnie_.

“What did he do to you?”

“He hurt me so badly.” She’s not looking at him, her whisper seems to be directed to the darkness of the room and it sends chills down his spine.

He grabs her wrists and pulls her hands away from her belly to get her attention. It’s the first time he’s touched her since this whole dream ordeal began, but she doesn’t give any indication that she’s aware of his presence, even when he asks more aggressively this time.

“What did he do to you Bonnie?”

Her line of vision is fixed on some imaginary point in the distance, and her eyes are glassy and unfocused. That intrusive thought about how achingly beautiful she is tears across his mind again.

“Bonnie,” he lightly shakes her wrists, “Hey.” Shakes them again, but it’s no use because she’s a million miles away.

Her next words make him go cold.

“He hurt me everywhere,” she says, her voice a shaky whisper.

 _No._

The insinuation behind that statement, he can’t wrap his head around it, and for the first time since he was probably a human, he prays to god that he’s wrong — even though it all makes sense now, the way she freaked out when he tried to take off her shirt — he prays that dream Bonnie is just being facetious or dramatic, that she isn’t saying what he thinks she’s saying, that it really just is that she’s disgusted by him.

“Tell me what he did to you Bonnie,” he growls, yanking at her wrists more roughly.

She finally looks at him, meeting his frustrated, borderline desperate stare, and there’s only compassion in her eyes. He loosens his grip on her, and her arms fall out of his clutches at the same time as a tear falls from her eye.

He’s reaching up to wipe it away but she intercepts the movement and cradles his hand in hers, smiling sadly at him.

“Damon. The only time I feel better is when I’m with you.”

And then she’s lowering herself down towards him and his breath hitches as her lips land gently on his cheek, open and wet and soft. She curls around him, nuzzling her face into his neck, and dream Bonnie disappears as her breathing deepens and she settles into silence, asleep as his little witch again.

Damon lies awake under her, cheek burning and his whole body buzzing in the darkness.

_I’m going to kill Kai._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading lovelies! I'm very curious as to what you thought about this chapter! 
> 
> Did you guys like dream Bonnie? From her intro in the beginning to her full appearance at the end. PTSD can cause strange dream/sleep patterns and dissociative fugue states in people and that's kind of what I'm working through with dream Bonnie. There will also be other manifestations of her PTSD that she's gonna have to deal with.
> 
> Other characters will be making an appearance… if not next chapter then for sure the one after that LOL
> 
> Much Bamon love. I look forward to hearing what you all have to say. Will see you all hopefully soon for chapter 3. XOXO


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 is finally here! Thank you all for your patience. This is another long one. Thank you so so so so much to everyone who comments and kudos. And sorry in advance for all the angst in this one. Enjoy! :) XOXO- Ailey

Bonnie wakes up on top of Damon. Again. 

_Well, I guess this is how it’s going to be from now on._

For once she’s awake before him, but his arms are tightly wrapped around her, effectively preventing her from going anywhere — and she can’t lie, _it’s nice —_ so she rests her chin on his bare chest and watches him while he sleeps. 

_Does the bastard ever wear a shirt?_

It’s really unfair how beautiful he is; perfectly sculpted face and all. Dark eyelashes and pink, pursed lips. The slightest rosy tint to his cheeks. 

He looks so relaxed and peaceful in his slumber and her heart clenches when she realizes she rarely gets to see him like this. Rarely sees him without the furrowed brows, the stiff smirk and clenched jaw, the wide-eyed shadow of _pain_ that never seems to leave his blue eyes. 

Though she has noticed that he has been happier these past few days. Lighter. More generous. It looks good on him.

It’s too early for savior-esque intrusive thoughts, but her mind produces one anyway, one that calls to him and wants to hold his suffering for him, to take away his pain of being unloved and rejected eternally. 

She almost slaps herself in that moment. _Stop it Bonnie. This is Damon Salvatore we’re talking about._

“Morning Bon Bon,” the vampire suddenly mumbles, eyes still shut. “You enjoying the show?” 

_Of course._

She has to giggle. “How do you always know when I’m awake?” 

He releases his grip on her and stretches his hands over his head, groan-yawning before fluttering his lids open and smiling lazily at her. 

“Your breathing patterns and heart beat. Dead give away.”  


“That’s creepy.”  
  
“Says the woman straddling the creep in his bed, _without_ asking for consent I might add.” 

She rolls her eyes and rolls off him in one movement so that they’re lying side by side. “Shut up, perv.” 

He chuckles before growing serious, head tilted to the side so he can eye her. “You okay?”  
  
His probing look makes her stomach twist. “Yeah, why?” 

“Your heart beat went on a little journey back there. That’s what woke me up.” 

She reddens. “See, this is what I mean. Invasion of privacy. _Creepy_.”

He says nothing, just tilts his head a little further and continues watching her. A strange curiosity in his gaze. 

She _hates_ how it flusters her, the heat of those ungodly blue eyes, and she snaps quickly under the pressure. “What is it?” 

“Nothing.”  
  
“Why do you keep looking at me like that?”

He says nothing again, his gaze intensifying, as the panic rises in her throat and she fights the urge to shove him. 

_Of all the times this man never shuts the hell up, he chooses now to play the silent game?_

“Helloooo! Earth to Damon!”  
  
“You really don’t remember?”  


“Remember what?”  
  
“Last night.”

Her throat goes dry. She racks her brains for what he could possibly be referring to. 

“Last night? You mean when my magic—”  
  
“No,” he cuts her off. “I’m talking about what went down at four a.m. when you woke up and climbed on top of me.” 

_What. In. The. Fuck._

The statement itself is loaded with innuendo, _especially the way he says it,_ voice dripping with insinuation, and she immediately thinks about the smolder of his gaze and his comment on consent and fears the worst.

_Calm down Bonnie, there is no way in hell that you molested Damon Salvatore in your sleep._

She sits up fully in the bed now and turns to him, heart pounding in her chest. “What the fuck are you talking about? I have zero memory of this.” 

He smirks suddenly, that mischief back, and irritation floods her veins. 

“ _Language_ , Bon Bon. I was joking when I said you have Alzheimers but we might have to take a little trip to the old folks home. They do say dementia can cause potty mouths so you’ll fit right in.” 

She punches his arm on reflex and has to hold herself back from flinching and grabbing her knuckles because she forgot that he’s apparently made of steel. 

“Damon, you’re freaking me out. You have to tell me what happened.”  
  
“I want to tell you, but I don’t know how dream Bonnie would feel about it if I betrayed her secrets.”

Her jaw locks with a disturbing click. The _asshole_ is messing with her, and it’s working, because she can feel her blood pressure rising.

“ _Dream Bonnie_? Have you lost your goddamn mind?”  
  
“Hey now,” he drawls, “I liked her. She was _a lot_ nicer than real Bonnie.” 

“I’m nice to you, asshole.” 

The look he gives her forces her to backtrack. “Okay, okay, I walked right into that one—”  
  
“I’m just messing with you, Bon Bon. You didn’t do anything _too_ incriminating.” When her eyes widen and her brow furrows, he sighs. “You weren’t making much sense. It was mostly just sleep talk. Typical judgey witch behavior.”

_Huh._ “What did I say?” 

“You know, your usual Bennett eccentricities. You just kept saying that this was a dream and that… you could do whatever you wanted.”

_Do whatever I want? And what is that exactly?_

She shifts uncomfortably. “Well, did I… do anything?”

“Not really,” he shrugs. “I kept fighting with you the whole time trying to get you to realize it was a dream. But apparently a sleeping witch is just as stubborn as the awake one.”

She lets out a huge sigh of relief, and rests her face in her hands for a moment. When she looks back up, the vampire has a strange look on his face. It almost looks like _remorse_ but that wouldn’t make much sense, although she can’t help but feel that he’s hiding something.  
  
“Did I say anything.. else?”  


Damon shakes his head before the most devilish smirk spreads across his face. 

“Well, there is _one_ thing you said.”  
  
 _Uh oh._

She barrels through all the possible worst case scenarios: anything along the lines of declarations of attraction or desire, and she’s moving to Antarctica to become an eskimo nun. 

Not that she should be worried anyways, because she _isn’t_ attracted to Damon Salvatore, right?

_Dream Bonnie, you better be on page with the rest of us, girl._

“What is it? What did I say?”  
  
“I don’t want to upset you.”His pout is one of mock-concern, but there’s nothing but that mischief in his eyes and it sends shivers down her spine.  
  
“Tell me or I will aneurysm you!”  
  
“Um, excuse me, but I do not negotiate with terrorists. Or impolite witches.” 

She hits him again, this time slapping his chest. 

“Whoa, calm down, domestic violence-y! I’ll tell you, just promise me you won’t get upset.”  
  
“Damon!” she whines, about to give up and beg, “you’re scaring me!”  
  
“Okay, okay. You said that…”  


He pauses for dramatic effect, and she freezes in spite of herself, breath hitching—  
  
“You said that I… have…. amazing arms.”  
  
She blinks in disbelief, mouth hanging open, and when he starts to cackle, she groans and _almost_ gives him an aneurysm. 

“Are you kidding me? You asshole, you nearly gave me a heart attack!” She slaps wildly at his arm, which she immediately realizes is a mistake because he doesn’t miss a beat. 

“Ooh, you just can’t get enough of my arms can you, Bon Bon. Just can’t keep your hands off them.” 

“Ugh, I hate you!” she huffs and pushes him again, dragging her body out of the bed and stomping towards the bathroom. 

“No need to be violent, you can caress them any time you like,” he calls to her in a godforsaken sing-song voice.

“God! Is there anything more humiliating?” She groans to herself, to god, to the damn universe, but definitely not to him.  
  
Damon answers anyway, shouting across the bedroom so she can hear him. “Nothing humiliating about having eyes, Bon Bon. I think most people with eyes would agree with your astute assessment that only dream you had the courage to admit.”  
  
“Shut the fuck up.” 

“No take backs little bird. Now I know how you really feel.” 

———

Damon makes them vampcakes for breakfast, with Bonnie watching him, again.

He can tell she’s annoyed today, a little hot and jumpy, probably because of the way he teased her this morning. 

He tries not to grin thinking about it.

Really she should be thanking him for sparing her the details about the extent of dream Bonnie’s touchy and flirtatious sensibilities. He chose not to mention the chest and neck caresses and that tender cheek kiss at the end, mainly because he doesn’t want to jeopardize their overly cuddly relationship, and also because well, if she looks grossed out and horrified, he knows how much that will hurt. 

He also left out the part about Kai for other selfish reasons; he doesn’t want to see that _pain_ in her eyes, and also because she doesn’t need to know for now. Not until he has Kai right where he wants him — tortured for a solid week or two in his basement and then utterly dead. 

Speaking of which, after he places the pancakes on the table, he whips out his phone to send a text to Alaric.  
  
 _Your girlfriend seen her psycho twin bro by any chance?_

It’s super casual, the text, he knows, but Alaric is notoriously cagey. And he has to play his cards right; he doesn’t want Kai to elude his grasp and if the little shit gets even a whiff that he’s after him, the whole plan will be fucked. 

Not that he has a plan really, it just goes like this: kidnap, torture, kill. 

Bonnie eyes him as he types away on his phone, pancake in mouth. This time she chews noticeably slower, no doubt because of last night’s stomach ache situation. 

“Who are you texting?”  
  
 _So. Nosy._

“Stefan,” he lies too easily, but he says nothing else and she somehow seems even more irritated.

She abruptly clangs her fork down against the plate. “Are we just going to sit around the boarding house all day?” Hostility rolling through her words.

He pushes away the thought of how smoking hot she is when she’s annoyed, because there is no way that will end up any way but badly for both of them. 

He covers up his amusement? arousal? with a smirk. “Jeez louweez _judgey,_ it’s not like we have to. But since you're in hiding I don’t think the Mystic Grill is our best bet.”  
  
“No, no,” she says quickly, but he doesn’t miss the flinch. “Ugh, I don’t know. I want to be outside. Somewhere private though.” 

And just like that he knows where to take her. He jumps up and claps. 

“Get dressed.”  
  
“Where are we going?”  
  
“It’s a _surprise_.” He leans forward and musses up her hair playfully with his hand, causing her to thrash away from him violently and swat at him.  
  
“Damon!”  
  
“Just trust me Bon, okay? Get dressed. Wear walking shoes. And something warm.”

Half an hour later Damon leads them into the forest behind the boarding house.

He decides to wear a tank top despite colder than average temperatures, much to — he hopes and prays — Bonnie’s chagrin. And sure enough, his chest roars with pride when she meets him downstairs and her eyes widen as they linger on his arms for just a _second_ too long, right before she flushes and rolls her eyes. 

As they step outside the boarding house he asks, “see something you like, witchy?” 

He really can’t help himself.  
  
“Really, Damon?”  
  
“What, I’m just giving the people what _she wants_.” 

“I’ll slap that smirk right off your face, Salvatore.” 

A gentle breeze envelops them as they head towards the forest, and he gets a whiff of her scent, cinnamon honey and fire and roses and power, and it’s _delicious_.  
  
 _Fuck._ “Is that a promise?” 

Yeah he’s smelled her tantalizing aroma before, in 1994 and even before that, but she’s always been so closed off to him that he never let himself entertain the idea. Now however, now she’s so _vibrant_ , and even though she’s in pain, she’s open and alive and _always touching him,_ and in a strange way it feels like he’s seeing her for the first time.

_Damon, stop._

He makes a mental note that he needs to get laid asap, because it’s been way too long, and if he’s going to be spending every waking second with a hot young magical thing who smells like pure sex, he needs a contingency plan.

The witch is saying something.  
  
“What?”  
  
“I said, are you going to tell me where we’re going?” 

“Nope.”

She grunts and then juts her chin out towards his backpack, slung over his right shoulder. “What’s in the bag?” 

“Part of the surprise, _nosy_.”

Once they're among the trees Bonnie stops badgering him to reveal the destination. They start a trek, up and down hills, with Damon trailing a few steps ahead. They hike mostly in silence, but from the deafening sounds of her breathing, Damon can guess that Bonnie’s more than a little winded and getting more exhausted by the minute.

He wonders if he should offer to carry her part of the way, but knows she would _never_ accept that. So instead, he says, “You’re out of shape, Bon Bon. I feel betrayed that smoking hot bods and bubble butts can be deceiving.”  
  
“Fuck you.” 

“Language, judgey,” he teases, but subtly slows down their pace.

It takes about forty five minutes, but when they finally arrive at a wall of trees, the vampire abruptly stops and Bonnie collides into his backside, grumbling. 

“This is where you brought me? A dead end?” she huffs. 

Damon rolls his eyes before grabbing her hand and dragging her forward, through the tree wall, and they enter a beautiful meadow. The way the sunlight hits the clearing makes the long grass look like a rainbow-colored sea, surrounded by tall green lushy giants. Theres something special about it, there always has been, but today the air feels specially magical.  
  
Bonnie gasps at the sight and squeezes his hand. “Damon…”  
  
He smiles and squeezes back. “I know. You’re welcome.” 

Still holding her hand, he leads them to a patch of grass and whips open his backpack, setting up the picnic blanket, complete with Bonnie’s favorite snacks: salt and vinegar chips, tortilla chips and salsa, white chocolate chip macadamia nut cookies, dried mango, and watermelon sour patch kids. She giggles and squeals and claps in delight like a child as he waves each snack in front of her face before placing it down, and it’s stupid how much he revels in her joy.

They finally sit and relax while Bonnie tears into the food and Damon double fists bourbon and a blood bag. 

He watches her with a grin. “You enjoying your surprise, Bon Bon?” 

She returns the grin through a mouthful of cookie and candy, before nodding and pecking his cheek chastely. 

“Ew, food kisses!” he exclaims but shivers at the memory of dream Bonnie’s lips ghosting over the same spot hours before. 

They drop into a comfortable silence and Damon lays himself down on his back to stare at the lovely blue and white of the clouds and the sky. And after making her way through a few more handfuls of chips, Bonnie does the same, stretching out beside him. 

Damon closes his eyes, listening to the sounds of the breeze rustle through the trees and Bonnie’s rhythmic breathing, her occasional yawns, enjoying the warmth of the sun crawling over his skin, her intoxicating scent lingering in his nostrils, and it’s _nice_. 

It’s been too long in general since he’s come to this spot — though he suspects it wouldn’t be half as nice without his witchy companion — but it’s also been too long since he’s felt peaceful, relaxed. Since he’s been able to rest. 

He suspects that that too has something to do with his little bird next to him. 

“Damon?”  
  
His eyes flutter open and take in the sky above. “Hmm?”

“How did you find this place?”  
  
“When I was still a kid,” he reminisces, gaze following a particularly fluffy cloud. “When things got to be too much at home I would come here. This was my sanctuary. Still is in a lot of ways.” 

She hums. “Have you shown this place to anyone else?” 

The unsaid name _Elena_ hangs between them. 

He reflexively rolls his eyes. “I just said it was my secret special sanctuary. So obviously, no.” 

“But..you showed _me_ your secret special sanctuary?” 

He mock-gasps and whips his head to the side to look at her, his hand jumping up to his mouth. “You’re right. What was I thinking? You're going to ruin this place with your judgey-ness.” The veins appear beneath his eyes and he bares his fangs. “Prepare to die, Bon Bon.”  
  
She scoffs and jabs him in the ribs as his visage returns to normal.

Damon chuckles before turning back to the sky with a shrug. “We shared a prison world together. What’s a sanctuary between us?”

There’s a few beats of silence before the witch’s hand curls around his again. “Thank you Damon,” she says softly. “It really is beautiful. If I had known about this place when I was alone…” Her voice catches. “It might have been easier.” 

He turns to look at her but she’s staring up at the sky so he strokes her hand and says, “Bonnie, look at me,” and when she meets his eyes he says, “You’re the strongest person I know.” And he means it, more than he’s meant anything in the world, and the tears streaming down her face make his stomach flip and tighten with grief. 

When she smiles at him they both turn back to the sky, but Bonnie doesn’t move her hand and neither does he. 

And in that moment they’re just best friends holding hands, and it’s sweet and innocent and feels like sandbox love, warm and perfect and easy. _Best friends hold hands sometimes, right?_

Damon loses track of how much time passes in that comfortable silence, but it shatters with a disturbing clatter when Bonnie’s voice fills the air. 

“Was it you who opened the garage door?”

He freezes, squeezing his eyes shut in a grimace as his mind catapults to the painful memory. 

He’s completely somber now because he knows exactly what she’s referring to: the heart-wrenching panic he felt when he watched her crack open their designated ‘suicide bourbon’; the horror that took over every cell in his body when she sat herself in the car and turned on the exhaust; the desperation with which he tried to get her attention, yell at her to stop, that he’s there, that she’s not alone; and that final law-of-physics-defying act of pure will that yanked open the garage door, because he knew in that moment that if Bonnie Bennett died, his world would definitively fall apart. 

He disentangles his hand from hers because the anguish is rising like bile in his throat and he needs to clench his fist. 

“Yes. It was me,” he says stiffly. 

“Mm. I guessed it was between you and Grams, I couldn’t decide who though. I considered maybe Jeremy too.”

He stalls an irrational pang of anger at the little Gilbert’s name. “Nope. No useless emo child hunters involved. All me and Liv Parker.” 

Bonnie says nothing, and Damon remains painfully tense, until he eventually spits out, “we should have never made that stupid pact.” 

It’s a moment before she replies, her voice gentle. “Hey, we were desperate at the time remember? The pact wasn’t a bad idea.”  
  
“Yes it was a bad idea, and it was _my_ bad idea. Maybe my worst idea ever. I wasn’t thinking properly. Being stuck in 1994 wasn’t even _that_ bad.”  


As it’s leaving his mouth, he realizes how insensitive it is, and just like that he’s instantly eating his words because Bonnie’s got this incredulous look on her face. 

“Are you kidding me, Damon? How can you even say that? You _know_ how horrible it was being stuck there—” 

“Not the… not the you being alone part…I mean when it was just us there together,” he tries to salvage, hands motioning wildly, but her eyebrows threaten to raise completely off her forehead. “Look, I know we were miserable and lonely and I had a terrible attitude the whole time and blah blah blah, but I don't know, now I feel like I could think of way worse things than us being stuck there… honestly looking back, it wasn’t that bad, just you and me…”

He trails off because he’s rambling; he knows he's not making sense and he knows he put her through hell in 1994 and she’s staring at him in wide-eyed disbelief with her mouth hanging slightly open and everything he says sounds so fucking futile and ridiculous and she can no doubt see _right_ through him. 

He closes his eyes, turning away from her, and lets out a long sigh. “It doesn’t even matter, Bonnie, the bourbon pact was fucking stupid and… I should have never put that idea into either of our heads. I never wanted…..” He trails off again because the guilt threatens to swallow him whole, he feels so small. 

“Hey,” she says softly, “it wasn’t your fault. I had nothing left, Damon, and it was because of the loneliness I felt, not because of the pact.” 

Her fingers lightly graze against his cheek and Damon blinks stupidly at her touch, in utter disbelief that _she’s_ the one comforting _him_ even as they talk about her despair, her hopelessness. 

_I don't deserve you,_ he thinks, as he flips onto his side so they’re facing each other. His voice dies somewhere under an avalanche of emotion when he sees how pretty she looks, bundled up in her sweater.

“Do you know what got me through all that time by myself?” she asks.

He shakes his head no. 

“You,” she says, and when he flinches, she adds, “kinda. I would talk to you as if you were still there. You were my imaginary friend for a while, and I would hang out with that version of you.” She laughs at what he assumes is the look of horror on his face. “Isn’t that sad?”

He does his best to smile, which isn’t too hard, because he didn’t realize how fucking much he missed the sound of her laughter. “Yeah, that’s pretty sad.” 

She laughs again before it gets swallowed up by a yawn. “You’re right, that’s pathetic. At least imaginary Damon knew how to make pancakes.” 

“Take it back.” 

“Make me,” she giggles and yawns again. 

“You sleepy?” His voice is unintentionally husky, and he coughs to clear his throat. 

“A little.”  
  
“You could take a nap if you want, we still have a couple hours of daylight left. I’ll keep watch.” He winks. 

“Mm. Maybe I will.” She smiles at him, soft and lazy, and something inside him bursts into flames.

He doesn’t know if it’s the gentleness of her smile, or the tenderness in her eyes, or being in his sanctuary with her, or the warm breeze that washes them both in the scent of roses and honey, but he suddenly wants to kiss her. 

Wants to know what her lips taste like, what her tongue feels like in his mouth, wants to feel the heat of her pants and sighs against his skin. 

He curses himself internally, because he’s clearly a masochist and that’s the only explanation for why he would let himself yearn for Bonnie Bennett, his now best friend, formal frenemy, and without a doubt the purest being he has ever known. 

It’s not as if it’s the first time he’s had dirty thoughts about the little witch, but that’s just what they were before — dirty thoughts. Like in 1994 when she strutted about in those ridiculous overalls that by some miracle accentuated her thick hips and perky ass, and he would stare off into the distance fantasizing about those creamy thighs wrapped around his neck. Dreaming about bending her over the dining room table and pounding into her. Intrusive thoughts, about how she would taste, begging for him. 

But _this,_ this is a whole different itch that courses through his blood and it frightens him, how badly he wants to kiss every inch of her and make her giggle, how he wants to be the reason for her pleasure and joy, wants her in his arms to never let her go, wants to make her _his_. 

_Fuck._

The battle raging inside of him must be playing out on his face because she raises an eyebrow. “What’s happening?” 

He sighs and pushes it down, down, down. Doubles back on that mental note to get laid immediately. “Nothing, Bon Bon. Go to sleep.” 

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she says, even as she yawns and her eyes flutter closed.  
  
He snickers. “You’ll always fight me, won’t you?”

“Til the bitter end,” she mumbles and curls further into herself, beginning to drift away, and he regrets wearing only a tank top because he doesn’t have a jacket or a sweater to cover her with. 

He smirks to himself because he likes the idea of the little bird in his corner for the rest of their lives, calling him out on his shit, as he annoys her to death.

“We’re a perfect match,” he says out loud before he can stop himself, but she’s already asleep. 

He shuffles off the picnic blanket to wrap it around her. 

———

Bonnie is scared. She’s in the forest, alone, but it’s dark and in every shadow and rustle there’s a threat: either Kai, or no Kai, and both scenarios are equally horrifying.

She runs and runs looking for an end to the trees and the dirt path but there doesn’t seem to be one. She doesn’t know what hellish nightmare landed her here alone again, but she needs one person and one person only. 

“Damon!” 

No answer. Panic rises. 

The forest starts to rumble, the ground begins to tremor and she knows she’ll be swallowed up by the darkness forever if she doesn’t find him.

“Damon! Damon!”

She falls to her knees in despair and terror, about to give in to the oblivion — when suddenly she hears her name, in another dimension, calling to her, the voice of home. 

She opens her eyes with a gasp and collides with breathtaking blue. He’s there; Damon is above her, shaking her shoulders, repeating “Bonnie, wake up,” over and over again, concern coloring his features. 

“Damon?”  


“Thank god,” he exhales, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear gingerly, his eyes darting all over her face, “you were screaming… I think you were having a nightma—” 

She sits up and throws her arms around his torso in the tightest squeeze she can manage, burrowing her face into his chest and sobbing into him. “I couldn’t find you… Other side disintegrating… I couldn’t find you..”  


“Shh, shh,” he soothes, rubbing her back, “it’s okay, I’m here. You’re not alone. I’m here.” 

As he calms her, he maneuvers them so they are laid back down on the blanket again, Damon on his side and Bonnie completely curled into him; his chin resting atop her hair as she shakes and shakes. 

Some time passes in their embrace, until she whispers against his collarbone, “I can’t lose you again.”

He pulls back and hooks her chin up to meet his gaze, their faces centimeters apart. “You won’t. I promise.” 

She’s not used to receiving this sort of devotional tenderness, from anyone really but especially not _him,_ and something breaks inside of her as she realizes how much she needs it, wants it, craves it, craves _him_. It’s a potent realization but one that seems so obvious and natural that it settles into the moment and scaffolds her, as if it had always been there. 

It’s too much, him being there and being so close, but somehow not close enough, and her _want_ for him is so much that her lip quivers and she shuts her eyes as the tears continue to spill, relentless. 

He holds on to her face, wiping away the tears and whispering “tell me how to make it better, little bird,” over and over again, the coolness of his breath soothing the heat in her cheeks with every word he speaks, yet feeding the flames in her core that need him close and belonging solely to _her_.

When she stops crying, he kisses her forehead and her eyes flutter open with a whimper, only for her breath to catch at the visceral emotion etched into his face. 

“Tell me, Bonnie,” he groans. 

She stares in confusion as his thumb trails along the side of her face, coaxing. 

“Tell me how to make you feel good,” he croons. “Tell me what you need.” 

The world abruptly falls away, and the only things in existence are the vastness of his blue oceans and his sexy kissable lips, his muscular body hard and safe against hers, his hands cupping her face, and she does what every cell in her body commands her to do; to lean in and press her lips to his. 

He kisses her back immediately, as if he’s simply been waiting for her to make the first move, and in seconds she’s on her back and he’s kissing her senseless, at once rough and gentle, and Bonnie is sure she could die from how _good_ it feels. When she starts to pull away for some air, his little detour to her neck has her moaning embarrassingly loud before she can even catch her breath. 

“Damon,” she gasps, pulling his hair to yank him off of her because it’s all happening too fast and the dull ache between her legs has amplified to a wet, _throbbing_ drum. 

“Yes, Bon Bon?” There’s nothing but lust and desire in his eyes as he smiles down at her, and it sends a tremor down her spine because she feels utterly naked underneath him. 

She’s suddenly never been more scared in her life, not of him, but of whatever this is that’s happening between them, despite the pounding in her core, begging him to take her.

“No,” she hears her voice saying. “No, this is wrong. You don’t want me, you want Elena. You love Elena.” 

“Oh, silly Bon Bon,” he chuckles darkly against her lips. He grinds his pelvis into her center and she almost creams herself, moaning and shivering as she feels him graze against the flimsy layer of her yoga pants, hot, _hard,_ big, and desperately wanting, as he purrs into her gasping mouth, “does this feel like I don’t want you?” 

And with that, Bonnie’s eyes fly open as she wakes up with a yelp, jolting into an upright position. 

_It was all a dream._

As her eyes adjust she realizes she’s still in Damon’s meadow sanctuary, and not in his arms. It must be getting late because the sun is setting, and the cool breeze of the dwindling afternoon feels heaven sent against her sweat slicked skin. She’s disheveled, hot, bothered, and uncomfortably entangled in the picnic blanket, which she assumes Damon must have thrown over her once she dozed off. 

Speaking of Damon… the vampire is lounging on the grass a few feet away, mid-swig of bourbon, his eyebrows raised in her direction. 

“Bon? You good?” 

She thanks the lucky stars they are outside in the fresh air because she is still pulsing, thrumming with need, and the wetness between her legs is trickling down her thighs and if they were in closed quarters, she’d be a goner with that pesky heightened vampire sense of smell. 

She swallows, throat painfully dry, trying to will her chest to stop heaving as she gives a small nod to his question. “Just.. a nightmare,” she grits out. 

He grimaces, and then, to her horror, moves closer to her— to which she reactively clamps her thighs together and bunches up the picnic blanket over her lower half. 

She knows she looks a hot ass mess and as he takes in the site of her flushed cheeks and messy damp hair, he misreads her discomfort and presses the back of his palm to her forehead to check her temperature. “You look like you have a fever and you’re kinda warm. You feeling okay?”  


She does everything she can to not cringe away from his touch. “Yeah, Damon, I’m fine. It was just a bad dream.”

_Just a dream._  


He withdraws his hand and leans away from her — _thank god—_ but eyes her sympathetically. “Shit Bon, I should have been watching you more closely. Or I should have snuggled you, that seems to be the secret ingredient for your best sleeps of all time.” He winks and wiggles her eyebrows at her, but she’s too flustered to roll her eyes or laugh or respond really, because all she can think about how his lips felt on hers in the dream. 

She freezes suddenly. “Did I… sleep talk or do anything weird?”  


Damon grins. “You asking me if dream Bonnie made an appearance? Why, were you dreaming about my arms again?” 

She glowers and tries to maintain her stony demeanor, even as the heat creeps into her face. “I said it was a nightmare.” 

“So you admit, my arms are fantasy wet dream material.” 

She prays he can’t hear her heart race, because his joking and teasing is, as of five minutes ago, a little _too close_ to the truth. “Ugh, Damon, be serious please!” 

“Sadly no, dream Bonnie never showed her face. But I wish she had, I wore this tank top just for her.” 

She releases a sigh and drops her head into her hands, unable to make sense of the confusing combination of sadness and relief churning in her belly and her chest. 

_Just a dream._

Damon knocks at her leg sheepishly. “Hey… do you want to talk about it? Or drink about it?” He shakes the bourbon in her direction. 

She raises her head onto her knee and smiles at him, though she’s sure it doesn’t meet her eyes. “I’m okay, thanks. It was just a Kai dream.”

Damon stiffens and gets the strangest look in his eye but it disappears so quickly that she wonders if she imagined it. 

“Oh,” is all he says, and then a tense thirty seconds later, “it’s getting dark. We should head back.” 

She nods and steps out of the blanket and Damon zips about for a few seconds before everything is cleaned up and in his backpack again, before turning to her. “I didn’t bring a flashlight and it’s about a 45 minute walk when we can see where we’re going. Or I can vamp us back.” 

Bonnie nods again, relieved that he offered first because she was going to ask him to do piggyback because her whole body is _tired._

Before she can say anything he scoops her up, bridal style, cradling her against his torso, his arms strong and secure around her.

“Put your hands around my neck,” he instructs and she blushes before obeying. “It’ll take around four to five minutes so I need you to burrow your face in my neck or my chest so you don’t get motion sickness.” 

“Perv,” she mutters as she nuzzles into his neck.

When he chuckles and says, “let’s not pretend like you haven’t been dying to feel me up all day,” a not so tiny part of her dies inside because the want of the dream is still fresh in her blood and as she presses into his neck he smells so deliciously good like the forest, and masculinity, and home. 

And then there’s nothing but movement and blur and she shuts her eyes and her senses are full of Damon, Damon, Damon, his scent and his touch and his surprising undead warmth and she loses herself to it, until all too soon she’s sitting alone on her bed in the boarding house and he’s calling from downstairs, “Shower and get ready for dinner. I’ll cook us something.”

It’s only once she’s under the hot water that she lets herself think about the dream. As her fingers drift absentmindedly to her lips, she remembers how real it felt, how her head spun with desire; and her arms wrap around herself in a lonely hug as she mourns how perfect it feels to be in his arms — dream or no dream. 

Thoughts no girl should be having about her best friend’s boyfriend. 

So she pushes it all away.  
  
 _Sigh. I did not sign up for this Inception dream in a dream ass bullshit._

It’s only once she’s out of the shower and getting dressed does she realize how amazing her body feels. Exhausted and sore, but in a good way. Her magic feels strong, pleasant, power flexing through her muscles, and it’s the best she’s felt since she got back — hell, the best she’s felt in what feels like years — and she knows it’s largely from being in nature all day.

She’ll have to thank Damon for that again. 

Her thoughts are full of him as she pads downstairs towards the mouth watering smell of chicken parmesan, a confusing mix of gratitude, irritation, and reluctant affection, but when she steps foot in the kitchen and he looks up from the cutting board to smirk at her it all melts away into tenderness. 

“Hi.”  
  
“Hi back. Dinner’s ready, just finishing the salad. Put out plates, will ya?”

She maneuvers towards the cabinets behind the vampire, before pausing and hugging him from behind, wrapping her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek and whole body against his back side. 

She knows she’s playing with fire because of how she smells extra good and the way he stiffens at her touch but she can’t bring herself to care. 

The knife clatters against the counter as his hands come to rest on top of hers. 

“When did you become such a sap Bon Bon? I swear you’re a goner for me.” 

Her heart sinks and knocks against her stomach. “Shut up.” 

He chuckles, thumbs stroking the back of her palms. “What’s this for?” 

“I just wanted to say thank you.”  


“For what?”

“For today. All of today.” _For being my friend. For showing me your sanctuary. For being you._

There’s a pause before he says, “well don’t thank me yet, I could still fuck it up. I could have poisoned the food.” 

They disentangle as he begins to slice a tomato when the metallic steel of the knife glints in Bonnie’s peripheral. 

Time stops, as her vision narrows in on the knife in his hand, and she’s suddenly back there with Kai, being cut up and sliced for days and days on end with the _same_ knife. 

She can’t move or speak or look away but she can hear herself hyperventilating and then Damon’s in her face, shaking her by the shoulders, shouting her name.  
  
“Bonnie! Bonnie! Snap out of it!” 

He rubs up and down her arms and that thaws her a little bit, enough for her to blink and choke out, “did Kai put you up to this?” 

“Put me up to what? What — the poisoning the food? That was a joke!” 

“The knife, Damon!” she thunders, on the brink of panic.

“What are you talking about?” Nothing but confusion in his face, but every cell in her body is repeating and getting louder by the second that _it’s the same knife,_ that _she’s in danger._

The tears are streaming down her face now. “That’s the knife h-he, that’s the same knife he used on me, Damon!” 

Damon looks wildly to the knife resting on the cutting board and back to her a few times. “What? N-no, Bonnie, it’s just a kitchen knife, it’s been in the boarding house for years.”

She hears nothing that he says, all worst possible scenarios attacking her at once. “Kai’s here, Damon, he must be following us, he’s trying to torment me,” she whispers in broken sobs. 

“Bonnie, no, please listen to me—” 

He reaches to cup her face but she screams, “No! Get away from me!” and the knife flies off the counter to impale Damon squarely in the chest at the same time as there’s an explosion of glass and shattering ceramic as all of the plates and glassware in the kitchen break at once. 

She feels her cheek tear open from a stray piece of glass, sharp and bloody. 

“Aarrgh!” Damon’s on the floor, writhing from an aneurysm that she didn’t even know she was giving him, as he yanks the knife from his chest and throws it across the room. 

“Bonnie, stop! Stop! Please stop!” he begs, gripping his head in agony. 

“How do I know you’re not working for him?” she cries, unable to shake it even though she cognitively knows it makes no sense, because it’s _Damon_ and she trusts him with her life. 

“I’m not! Please! Stop!” There’s blood now trickling from his nose and ears and eyes andhe’s dry sobbing from the anguish. 

The sounds of his wailing slam the reality of what she’s done into her and as she stops, her vision begins to go blurry, fade, and before she knows it she’s swallowed up by the blackness. 

———

Damon recovers from his brain being fried into a scramble just in time to catch Bonnie from hitting the glass-covered floor when she collapses. He gently lays her down on the couch before vamping to the bar and chugging nearly half a bottle of bourbon.

_Fuck, little bird_..

He can’t even afford to be angry at her, because as fucking irritating it is to get stabbed and have his mind grilled within an inch of his sanity, it hurts him way more to see Bonnie that terrified, that much in pain. 

He chugs the second half of the bourbon before turning to the mess in the kitchen. 

And as mind bogglingly annoying it is to have his kitchen completely destroyed — he makes a mental note to hire a cleaning crew first thing in the morning and call for a whole new set of dishes and glassware — it’s nothing. It pales in comparison to Bonnie losing her mind over a fucking kitchen utensil. 

Speaking of that damned thing, he goes and examines it, because as sure he is that Bonnie was having some sort of trauma related flashback, he knows Kai is technically out there still. But the knife looks completely commonplace, no trace of any markings or designs that would indicate otherwise. 

As he dampens a hand towel with some hot water, he catches his reflection in the window above the kitchen sink, and there’s blood caked all down his cheeks, lips and neck. 

_Damn_. _Looking like a straight up murder victim._ Meanwhile, Bonnie isn’t sporting even a drop of a nosebleed. Well one thing’s for sure, a lack of power is not the issue here. 

He kneels next to her on the ground, careful not to disturb her besides the warm towel, which he lightly presses around her forehead. Her cheek is sliced open so he bites into his wrist and puts it to her mouth, but it doesn’t take because she's still passed out.

He would have been worried if it wasn’t for the witch’s steady heartbeat pounding in his ears.

So he sits like that and waits for her to wake, even as his knees begin to ache and the compress starts to go cold, eyes never leaving her face. Her full lips. 

The most fucked up part of it all? He still wants to kiss her.

When her eyes begin to flutter open, he jerks his hand and the towel away and leans back to give her space. 

“Damon?” 

She sounds scared and confused and guilty, and he’s a sap for her all over again.  
  
“I’m here. How are you feeling?” 

As she takes in his bloody and bruised appearance — _damn, he should have cleaned up but he wasn’t thinking_ — a gasp of horror bubbles up in her throat as her hands fly up to cover her mouth.

“I promise, it looks worse than it is,” he says, reaching for her hands, “I’m healthy as a horse. Well, an immortal horse with magical healing abilities.” 

“I hurt you,” she whimpers and the tears start to spill. 

“Bon, I swear it’s fine. Nothing you haven’t done before.” He smirks ruefully. 

But she’s spiraling, trying to sit up and fling herself off the couch. “No, no, Damon I’m fucked up, I’m all fucked up! I’ve hurt you twice now and I need to leave you alone before I hurt you anymore!”

He doesn’t let go of her hands and uses his weight to keep her reclined on the cushion. “Bonnie, stop. Stop. The last thing you need is to be alone.”  


“Look at what I did tonight, Damon! I’m broken, okay? It’s not your job to fix me! I’m damaged and I refuse to put this all on you! It’s not your burden to carry!” 

Damon moves onto the couch and gathers her into his arms, effectively cutting off her sobs by crushing her into his chest. 

“Is that really what you think? That you’re a burden? Oh Bon…” 

He strokes her hair for a few minutes till she’s calm again, breath rising and falling against his chest. 

“Why are you doing this?” she mutters eventually.

“Doing what? Being your friend?” 

She looks up to meet his gaze. “I’m serious, Damon. Why? I need to know. I don’t want you to stay with me out of a feeling of obligation or guilt because I sacrificed myself to send you home. You will end up resenting me, and I don’t want that.” 

He flinches. “Sometimes it’s like you don’t know me at all Bonnie. I don’t believe in obligation and when I feel guilty, I ignore, avoid, and kill the thing that makes me feel guilty when it shows up in my face.” 

She looks like she’s going to argue, but he cuts her off. “Do I regret leaving you there by yourself? Yes, more than anything in the world. But do you really think that I, Damon Salvatore, would do anything I didn’t want to do? That I would stick around for one second if I didn’t want to be here with you?” 

She’s looking at him with a look in her eye he’s never seen before, and he sighs. “I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because you’re my best friend, _truly_ , and maybe it’s because I promised Emily Bennett a century and half ago I would protect the Bennett line and I’m a bitch to the cosmos. But all I know is that you’re my little bird and I’m not going to turn my back on you. Ever.” 

He growls the last part and the witch has gone completely still and silent in his embrace, her eyes glued to his face. 

“Don’t panic but I need to feed you my blood because your cheek is cut open and it’s going to scar if I don’t heal it soon.”  


She flinches but takes his wrist when he offers it. He grits his teeth when her soft lips suck gently on his flesh and after a couple swallows the soft skin of her face stitches itself back up into the smooth caramel. 

“Thanks.” 

She smiles at him and he knows what he has to do. Lets out a heavy sigh. 

“Listen Bonnie, I haven’t been completely honest with you. Last night, when you were sleep talking, you told me that Kai hurt you.” 

She freezes but he doesn’t give her time to panic. “You wouldn’t tell me what he did to you, but you said he hurt you badly, and from your little episode tonight, I’m guessing dream Bonnie wasn’t exaggerating.” He sighs again before continuing. “I want to help you, but if you don’t want to talk to me about it, I think you should see a professional. A therapist, maybe.”  


He winces as he says the last part, entirely unsure of how she’ll react, but to his relief she only blinks and nods.  


“I can help you find a therapist tomorrow. And I can drive you to the appointment and back once it’s booked.”  


She nods somewhat blankly and starts to shift out of his grasp. “I’ll find one tonight and leave them a message.”  


He smiles and says, “that’s a good idea,” but she’s already rushing away from him to the stairs up to her room.

Using his laptop, it only takes Bonnie five minutes to find a therapist and leave a voicemail, since there’s only two women psychological professionals in Mystic Falls. Damon tries not to eavesdrop on the call, but his vamp ears pick up bits and pieces like “abuse”, “trauma”, “symptoms of PTSD”, and “out of control”. 

After that, it feels a little less heavy in the boarding house. They say nothing as they get ready for bed, shuffling past each other to and from the shower in silence, but when they settle in bed together, Bonnie curls up against him and rests her head on his chest and he knows that they’re okay. 

This night, Damon battles insomnia because of the Bennett flavored pit in his stomach. He’s still awake and feeling rather uneasy when the witch stirs around three a.m., and mounts him. 

Her eyes flash silver in the dark, and Damon knows he’s in the presence of dream Bonnie. 

“Hey you,” he says lowly. “Did you miss me?”

Her smile is so sad and beautiful that his hand reaches out to cup her cheek of its own accord. 

“I’m sorry,” dream Bonnie whispers.

“What could you possibly have to be sorry for?” 

She’s tracing the length of his collarbones with her fingertips. 

“For being like this,” she breathes. “For needing you.” 

He grips her wrists, partly to get her attention and partly to stop her ministrations because, _fuck_ , she has to stop touching him. He can’t take any more of this semi-innocent dream foreplay without losing his freaking mind — he’s only a man after all; well, _more like a goddamn virginal teenage boy_ , apparently. 

“You have _nothing_ to be sorry for, Bonnie. You hear me? _Nothing_.” 

She doesn’t respond so he blurts out, “ _I’m_ sorry.”  
  
Ethereal eyes blink dreamily at him.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he repeats, “for not being able to help you.” 

He lets go of her arms so she can cup his face. “Oh Damon, you have no idea how much you help me. You really have no idea. “  
  
She says it with such gentle conviction, with no hint of anything but honest truth, that he almost believes her. Still he mumbles, “I wish I could do more.”

She hums. “Can I show you how much you’ve helped me?” A beautiful smile on her face now. 

He grunts. “How?” His mind immediately flits to blood sharing, or some witchy woo mind meld spell. He isn’t sure he’ll be able to survive either of those without shoving his tongue down her throat and then killing himself.

“Let me thank you, Damon,” she coos, “let me show you how much you mean to me.”

She moves down his body and lowers herself down to his torso, and Damon guesses that she’s going back to sleep, ending their little rendezvous, and he closes his eyes to drift off.

But then the impossible happens: Damon feels Bonnie’s lips and tongue close around his nipple. 

“Oh fuck!” An involuntary moan rips from his throat as his body jolts, electric hot arousal shooting through every inch of him. 

Before he can gather control of his motor function to tear her from him, his body feeling like it’s being _flayed alive_ in the most delicious way possible, dream Bonnie starts to kiss down his chest, in soft, wet, tender, toe-curling pleasure. 

When his hips buck of their own volition, it slams him back to reality and he grabs her face to jerk it away from his skin, panting and growling, almost feral. 

“Bonnie, _stop_.”

“Why?” she murmurs, the seductive mix of desire and innocence shining in her silver eyes making him almost groan. 

_Fuuuuuck. Fuck fuck fuck._

“You have to stop. We can’t do this.”

“I want to thank you, Damon. Won’t you let me thank you?”

He wants to throw himself over the nearest cliff. “No, Bon, you don’t owe me anything. I’m your best friend.” 

_Yikes._ It sounds like he’s trying to convince himself at this point. 

She finally sits up and he lets out a sigh of relief, even as she looks down on him with something unreadable in her gaze.

“I know I don’t owe you anything,” she says, before her voice drops, sad and longing. “Do you not want me?” 

His head is spinning and his blood is pounding; he’s about to lose control, can’t look at her, can’t be around her, needs to _get out of there_ before he kisses her or does something riskier, so he moves her off him and beelines for the shower, leaving her sitting there limply on the bed. When he thrusts himself under the cold water and the desire begins to freeze away, the unsaid words linger in his throat, heavy and thick and painful, threatening to suffocate him. 

_If only you knew how badly I want you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, things are heating up in the Bamon front! LOL! What did you guys think? Please talk to me in the comments, I'm so grateful for those of you who leave them. I legitimately re-read them almost daily, that's how impactful they are for me.
> 
> Do you guys think Damon is obligated to tell Bonnie that dream Bonnie made some moves? lmfao.
> 
> Coming up next chapter: Damon goes to track Kai with Alaric and Jo and Bon Bon goes to her first therapy session. AND THEN, some more juicy Bamon goodness ;)  
> Til next time, XOXO - Ailey


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